Summer Term
by lightlacedwithbeauty
Summary: "He's supposedly the hottie professor of the summer." "Ew, Izzy." "Don't tell me you wouldn't bang a hot professor."
1. Chapter 1: Techniques of Integration

**Summer Term**

* * *

Summary:_ "...He's supposedly the hottie professor of the summer." "Ew, Izzy." "Don't tell me you wouldn't bang a hot professor."_

Disclaimer:_ The Mortal Instruments and all its associated characters, places and events all belong to Cassandra Clare and the copyright holders. This is a non-profit fan work and no copyright infringement is intended._

Acknowledgement:_ The utmost thanks to my wonderful beta, ddpjclaf. She's the bestest. Beta. Ever. Also the coolest._

A/N:_ This is just a fun story I've been wanting to write for the past two months, and I finally got the courage to do it. Hope you all like._

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**Chapter One: Techniques of Integration**

Clary entered the Math department's lobby and slid into one of the booths. She stared up at the NYU crest hanging on the wall resentfully before dropping her bag next to her. She rummaged through it to fish her phone out, and glanced at the time. _10:35_. Clary was early, but she couldn't risk being late to class on the first day.

"Well, that business class was fun," Isabelle said as she plopped in the booth in front of Clary.

"Was Isabelle Lightwood actually bored for once?" Clary raised her eyebrows.

"Don't get me started. The professor was old and wrinkly. The male population in the class consisted of only nerds. And the females..." she wrinkled her nose. "I don't even want to think about them."

"What was wrong with the girls?"

Isabelle shrugged. "Just didn't seem like my type of crowd."

"You'll be fine," Clary replied as she scanned her surroundings.

The lobby was filled with people varying from age seventeen to seventy. It still didn't cease to amaze Clary how utterly chaotic New York was. Despite the fact that she'd lived there almost her entire life, she still wasn't fond of the state. Maybe it had to do with the busy life, or even the god-awful humidity. But she knew none of those excuses were the reasons why she'd left. She just wished she didn't have to come back.

"Clary. Clarissa. Clarissa Morgenstern."

Clary looked up to find her best friend giving her an odd look. "What?"

Isabelle enlaced her fingers together. "I say this because it's in your best interest, but what the hell are you wearing?"

Clary glanced down at her outfit and remembered how her morning went with her father.

_"Clarissa, I don't appreciate you disobeying my orders," said Valentine as he shrugged on a black suit to match his attire._

_Clary flashed her eyes angrily at her father. "You may be able to order people around in court, Dad, but not here."_

_Valentine narrowed his eyes. "Change your clothes. You will not be seen in public like that."_

_She looked over herself. She'd chosen the rattiest clothes she could find: a frayed white shirt with gym shorts. To top it off, Clary had pulled up her hair in a messy bun. Let Society think what they wanted, Clary was not Valentine's property. Nor was she someone Valentine wanted to show off. She was her own person and if her father was going to try to force her to do something his way, then he was in for a surprise._

_"I don't think I will."_

_Clary grabbed her bag from the countertop and opened the door. "Don't wait up. I won't be home until late," she said over her shoulder before slamming the door behind her._

"Lost in thought?" Isabelle asked.

Clary shook her head to rid it of her foul mood. "It's nothing. I should probably head to class."

Isabelle pursed her lips. "I really would change if I were you."

"Why?"

"Jesus, Clary. Are you completely clueless?"

"I'm not following. I'm just going to a class, which I'm being forced to go to anyway. I don't care what I look like."

"Have you looked up who your teacher is?"

"No?"

Isabelle's eyes lit up. "Mr. Jace Herondale."

Clary furrowed her brows. "You're excited about his name?"

"No, but it is a rather attractive name. He's supposedly the hottie professor of the summer."

"Ew, Izzy."

"Don't tell me you wouldn't bang a hot professor."

"Absolutely not."

"We'll see about that," Izzy said and slung her bag over her shoulder before Clary could reply. "Come on, I'll drop you off before I head home."

"Okay." Clary stood and pulled out her schedule. "It's in ECOT 256."

"Well," Isabelle said, "at least we're in the right building."

The girls made their way through the lobby and into a hallway named "ECOT." They searched for a sign which indicated Clary's classroom's number, but had no luck. Clary and Izzy then took a sharp turn to the right. People spilled from classrooms and brushed past them, some almost half-jogging to their classes whereas others slowed to talk to their friends.

They moved closer to the doors, where the number for the classroom was marked, and eventually found the right one. _ECOT 256_. Clary paused and looked at her best friend. Izzy nodded at her encouragingly before pulling the door open.

The room was filled with students. Seats were quickly taken as Clary and Izzy searched the room to find an empty chair. Clary spotted one in the second row and walked over to drop her bag on to the floor.

"Did you pick this one just because it's close to Mr. Hottie?" Izzy smirked.

Clary ignored her question. "Are you going to stay?"

"Just until your professor shows up." Isabelle winked.

Clary scrunched her nose. "Gross, Izzy. He's probably in his late forties and thinks scrabble is fun."

"Scrabble _is_ fun."

"Only because you always win," Clary mumbled. "Anyway," she continued in a louder voice, "it'll be awkward if you stand here, gawking at him."

A smile flashed across Izzy's face as she looked around the room.

"What?"

Clary shook her head. "I don't suppose you like the male population in this class, do you?"

Izzy grinned mischievously and patted the table Clary sat at. "I'll see you at home. Have fun." She winked.

Clary rolled her eyes as she watched Isabelle's retreating figure. She wished she was like her best friend, someone who wasn't afraid to voice her thoughts. Someone who was completely in control of her life. Clary, on the other hand, was tangled in a mess. She had a boyfriend named Sebastian back in California, who eagerly awaited her return. She'd asked him if he wanted to go back to New York with her for the summer, but he'd made up some lame excuse about wanting to visit his family in San Diego. After hearing about Valentine from both Izzy and Clary, Sebastian decided to opt out the "meeting the parents" part of the dating itinerary. She couldn't blame him. If she had the choice, she would be spending the rest of her life far, far away from her father.

Valentine wasn't always the biggest jerk in the world. When Clary's mother, Jocelyn, was alive, they were the happiest family anyone had ever encountered. Although both her parents used to work, Clary didn't feel as if she'd missed out on anything. They would have family dinners almost every night, and over holidays, the entire family left for vacation.

But after Jocelyn died in a car accident, it took a toll on everyone. Clary became withdrawn and sad. Valentine became rude and ruthless. He coerced Clary into joining clubs at her high school. He stopped her from seeing her friends, except Isabelle. Valentine couldn't stop Clary from being friends with her, not just because Izzy was as obstinate as they came, but also because she knew how to help Clary with the situation. And although Valetine's heart had turned to stone, Izzy had made him see that she would stick with Clary throughout everything.

Though once Clary neared her senior year of high school, Valentine started applying to colleges for her of his choice. He wanted her to major in something useful, for instance engineering or science. But Clary didn't want that. She wanted to become an artist, just like her mother. She had the artistic ability to make anything she wanted, and because of that, she received a scholarship to California Institute of the Arts, one of the best colleges in that state.

The minute Clary was accepted, she called Isabelle to give her the great news. Isabelle had screamed at the top of her lungs in congratulation. She then mentioned that she also got a letter of acceptance from University of California in Los Angeles. Clary couldn't believe her luck. She suspected Isabelle had deliberately chosen to live close to Clary, but when Clary asked Izzy about it, she'd brushed it off nonchalantly. Either way, Clary and her best friend would be in the same state, only two hours apart from one another.

Clary moved out of her house happily, ready to start her new life. She made new friends and landed herself a wonderful boyfriend. Additionally, Clary and Isabelle promised each other to have weekly nights at a restaurant halfway between where they lived, so their relationship stayed alive. But once her first year ended, Valentine begged Clary to come back and visit.

When she arrived back home, she was in for a surprise. Valentine had already enrolled her in Calculus 2, at New York University. He didn't believe she would make money being an artist, so he wanted her to major in mathematics as well. Her father made it clear that if she refused, he wouldn't help pay for her future classes at California Institute of the Arts.

And so here she was, on the first day of summer vacation, ready to learn math. At least she had Izzy to keep her company.

"Hey, everyone."

The male voice interrupted her self-pity party. Clary lifted her gaze to the front of the room to find a lean boy, dressed in dark jeans with a sky blue shirt, which clung to his biceps in the most delicious ways. A mess of blond curls hung over his forehead. Clary wondered if the boy was also a student in the class.

"My name is Mr. Herondale and I'm your instructor for the summer."

That solved the student question Clary had earlier.

"How about you guys introduce yourselves to your neighbors?" he asked as set his binder down on the table in front of him.

Before the students could start speaking, a bleached blonde girl sitting in front of Clary drawled out a question. "Or how about you tell us about yourself first, Mr. Herondale?"

A corner of Mr. Herondale's mouth pulled up into a half-smile. "Call me Jace. I'm a PhD student in math, third year."

"Ooh, here?" BB (Bleach Blondie) asked.

"I don't like disclosing personal information." He turned to face the entire class. "You all have five minutes to notify your neighbor about your joy-filled life."

Clary couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. Joy-filled life story. Wonderful. She turned to her left and found a friendly-looking pair of brown eyes looking at her through thick, black glasses.

"Hi, I'm Clary."

"Simon." He extended his hand to her.

She shook it. "What's your major?"

"Business. Yours?"

"Art."

Simon's eyebrows rose. "Why are you taking this class then?"

Clary was asking herself the same question. Instead, she replied with, "It's a long story. But I'm pretty much majoring in math and art."

"You don't seem thrilled to be here," he guessed.

"I'm not."

Clary fished out her book and notebook from her bag to avoid his gaze. "Are you any good?" She finally asked.

Simon shrugged. "I'm all right. Not a big fan of calculus though."

_I'm not a big fan of math. Period,_ Clary thought.

Simon pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you good at math?"

Clary laughed humorlessly. "I'm better at baseball than math. And I really suck at baseball."

"How old are you, Clary?"

"Twenty."

"You look younger."

Clary gave him a look. Simon wore an orange baggy shirt which said, "I haz cooties", and _she_ was the one that didn't look her age?

"All right, everyone," Mr. Herondale said, and almost immediately the classroom quieted. "I hope you learned a little something about your new friend. If they weren't friendly to you, I suggest giving them a giftcard to the zoo. Penguins can win over anyone."

Simon leaned in to whisper in Clary's ear. "Do I need to get you a giftcard?"

Clary laughed quietly. "No, we're good."

Mr. Herondale looked pointedly in Simon and her direction. Clary felt her cheeks pool with blood and lowered her gaze to her book on the desk.

"We'll start on Chapter 6: Techniques of Integration."

Mr. Herondale neatly scrawled the name of the chapter on the blackboard, then turned to face the students. Clary knew she should have been paying attention to the words that spilled from his lips, but she couldn't take her eyes off from his mouth. His jaw flexed with each movement and when he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Who can tell me what the techniques are?"

His tawny eyes searched the sea of students and landed on Clary. Almost instantly, she felt her stomach drop. She had a bad feeling about him looking at her the way he was, as if he were going to embarrass her in front of the class.

"How about the girl with the fiery red curls?"

Clary looked behind her, hoping against all hope there was another girl in this class who was also a redhead, but she had no luck. She faced the front of the room again.

"Me?" Clary asked, pointing at herself, as she felt her cheeks get warmer and warmer by each second.

"Yeah. First tell us your name and then tell us the techniques, if you know what they are." Clary sensed a challenge in the way he looked at her.

"Clary."

"Great, _Clary_. Do you know the answer to my second question?"

She swallowed. "No."

"What about your partner?"

Mr. Herondale raised an eyebrow at Simon.

"Name's Simon. One technique is integration by parts."

Mr. Herondale nodded and wrote Simon's answer neatly across the board.

Simon nudged Clary in the waist and winked at her. She rolled her eyes at him. So she wasn't the best at math, she knew that. But so what? It didn't matter to her that being an artist wouldn't bring much money to her. If art made her happy, then she would draw as long as she wanted to.

But of course persuading her father to her logic was almost impossible. He wouldn't hear a word of it. He believed art was some ridiculous hobby, which didn't need much skill. He thought of it as a nuisance. Well, she thought math was nuisance. And to add to that, she categorized Mr. Herondale under nuisance too, even though he was unbelievably good-looking.

Clary looked down at her notebook and flipped it open. She placed the nub of the pencil onto an empty page, and started drawing the scene in front of her. There was a row of students. Her pencil sketched their backs and their heads, some bent to write down what Mr. Herondale was saying, while others sneakily scrolled through Facebook, or some other social networking site. Clary then drew in a desk, where Mr. Herondale had situated his binder and a green water bottle. Once done, it was time to draw her professor.

She outlined his frame, starting from the broad shoulders and down to the slim waist. His body seemed athletic, and she could only imagine how taut his muscles must be underneath the layer of clothing. Clary roughed out the frayed jeans he wore before focusing on his shirt. She glanced up at him as he scribbled more words and numbers on the blackboard. She observed the way his biceps flexed, making the sleeves of his shirt shift up and down, as his hands gestured at each explanation he stated.

When Clary peeked at Mr. Herondale to study him once more, she noticed his golden eyes staring into her green ones. She looked at Simon from her peripheral, and watched him as he jotted down numbers. Clary realized Mr. Herondale had given the class a problem to solve, and was clearly waiting for everyone to finish.

She quickly wrote down the question and scanned the board for the examples that Mr. Herondale had done. Clary chewed on the eraser on the back of her pencil as she processed the problem. And then it was if the answers had clicked inside her brain. She hurriedly put her thoughts in writing and circled the solution once she was done.

"Is everyone finished?"

There were several positive mumbled responses from the students.

"Good to know you all are enthusiastic about this problem. Who wants to solve it?"

Clary kept her head low and stared at the piece of paper in front of her, pretending to study her answer.

"I will!" came an excited reply.

Clary presumed it was BB from the way her shrill voice sounded. When she raised her gaze to the figure standing up, her suspicions were proven right.

Mr. Herondale gave her a genuine smile and handed the chalk to her as soon as she neared him. BB wore the shortest red skirt Clary had ever seen, matched with a black top that looked five sizes too small for her.

Clary saw Mr. Herondale look at BB from top to bottom. He walked to the corner of the room and leaned back against the wall to watch the girl write her steps to the solution. Clary felt anger spread through her. Did he honestly think the too-tan, too-white-haired girl was pretty? Or was he just enjoying the fact that her shirt was so low cut that her cleavage was visible to almost everyone in the room?

"Ginge, did you get the answer?"

Clary blinked and the redness she started to see disappeared. "What did you just call me?"

Simon grinned. "Ginge."

She willed herself not to roll her eyes at him again. "I did."

He nodded in the direction of BB. "What do you think of her?"

Clary shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant at the fact that Mr. Herondale had checked her out. It wasn't that she had a little crush on him, because that was not possible. He was her teacher, and she his student. It just wasn't practical.

"She seems all right," Clary finally said.

"I think she's hot."

If Clary wasn't mistaken, she was sure Simon was staring at the other girl's huge butt.

"Ah shit," Clary heard Mr. Herondale mutter as he checked his phone, and the next words he spoke were louder. "Sorry guys, I didn't notice class was over. You can leave. The homework is on the website. Bring it tomorrow."

Clary stood and gathered her school belongings before sliding them inside her bag. She looked up to find Simon handing his phone to her.

"Give me your number so that we can study together. You know, like a study buddy," Simon said as a way of explanation.

Clary took the cell and entered in her number before giving it back. "What about the girl you thought was hot?"

"She'll be my booty call buddy."

Clary cringed. "Ew."

He smiled. "I'd better head out. I need to pick up my sister from the airport. I'll text ya."

She nodded. "Nice meeting you."

Clary slung her bag over her shoulder and was about to follow Simon out, when she felt inside her bag for her phone. She started panicking and checked each pocket. She finally found it and sighed in relief.

She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed her mini freak-out, but there was no one in the class except for herself and Mr. Herondale. _Fantastic, _she thought sarcastically as she headed toward the door.

"Clary."

She froze and whirled to face him. Her heart automatically started beating faster, and she willed herself to not seem like a fool. "Yes, Mr. Herondale?"

His eyes darkened as he walked over to her, until the distance between them was only a couple of inches. "I recommend getting a tutor for this class."

Clary's brows furrowed. That wasn't what she was expecting. "Excuse me?"

"You seemed lost everytime I asked a question."

Clary put her hand on her hip. "I figured out the answers. I'm doing fine."

"You were doodling in my class."

Her cheeks flamed. "No," she replied weakly.

"I'll make you a deal, Clary," he said, leaning into her. "If you manage an A on the upcoming exam, I'll let you draw. If you don't receive that..." His mouth pulled up into a crooked smile and his golden gaze burned into her.

"Then?"

"I get to have all your drawings."

Butterflies suddenly pounded against the walls of her stomach. She tightened her grip on her bag and gritted her teeth. "May I go now?"

Before she let him reply, Clary spun around. A low chuckle sounded from behind her, and Clary bit her tongue to prevent the insults that her mind was mentally spewing at her new teacher from leaving her mouth.

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A/N:_ Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2: Substitutions

**Summer Term**

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Summary:_ "...He's supposedly the hottie professor of the summer." "Ew, Izzy." "Don't tell me you wouldn't bang a hot professor."_

Disclaimer:_ The Mortal Instruments and all its associated characters, places and events all belong to Cassandra Clare and the copyright holders. This is a non-profit fan work and no copyright infringement is intended._

Acknowledgement:_ 1. Thank my awesomesauce beta for being so good about sending this back to me very quickly. She rocks my socks. 2. Also, thank rippingbutterflywings for pushing me to write at least one page a day, if not more. Seriously, thank these two ladies._

A/N:_ Thank you everyone for such a positive response! I'm so glad you all seem to like it. I'd just like to mention something real quick: I'll update this story depending on my school schedule. I barely had time this summer because I did take summer courses (where do you think the inspiration for this story came from? ;)), and it was pretty hard to update quickly. That being said, please bear with my schedule. I do intend on writing more chapters, but the updates will be slow. _

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**Chapter Two: Substitutions**

Ass.

That was what his name should have been. Ass. Or an asshole.

Was she talking to her neighbor the entire class like BB? Certainly not. Was she texting during class like BB? No. But that was mostly because Sebastian refused to communicate via phone while anyone he knew was being lectured to in school.

A large drop of water hit Clary on the forehead, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced up at the gray sky and frowned. Dark clouds rolled in and lightning sparked in the distance, threatening to drench her.

Hurriedly, she took out her keys from her bag and unlocked the door. Clary stepped inside and kicked the door shut. She tossed the keys onto the kitchen counter and headed up the stairs, straight for her room.

She was about to open the door when she noted it stood ajar. Clary frowned. Was her father snooping around in her room again? Checking to see if she was going to escape this hellhole? It wouldn't be the first time. She crossed the threshold and dropped her bag to the ground, when she noticed a dark-haired, slim girl lying on her bed.

"Izzy, what are you doing in my room?" Clary asked.

Isabelle sat up—still wearing the stylish clothes Clary had seen her earlier in—and waved her phone in the air. "Your boyfriend called to inquire where his wonderful girlfriend was."

Clary sighed and walked over to her bed, lying down on it. "I guess the reception sucked in the room."

Isabelle lay down beside her and handed Clary her phone. "Call him."

Clary smiled graciously at her. "Thanks."

She typed in Sebastian's phone number and waited for him to pick up. Within seconds, a warm voice flooded her ears.

"Hey, babe."

Clary closed her eyes and reveled in listening to her boyfriend's voice. "Hi."

"Where were you?"

She could imagine his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Class. Dealing with crappy teachers. How was your day?"

He sighed on the other line. "Boring. I miss you."

"You can always come visit."

There was a pause. "You know I can't..."

"I know," Clary cut him off. "I get it."

"Only two more months."

Clary chewed her bottom lip. "How's-" She started asking when the phone was suddenly ripped from her hand.

She turned to glare at Izzy, who was busy talking into her cell.

"Sorry, Clary's boyfriend. It's girl time now. Have a great day!" she replied enthusiastically before turning her phone off.

"Izzy!" Clary glared.

"Sorry darling, but you can talk all night long when I'm gone."

Clary let some anger seep into her tone. "What now?"

Isabelle tapped her chin. "I want to know what happened with the ever-so-attractive-teacher today."

"I think you mean what _didn't _happen. He wasn't polite to me. He thought I was dumb, which is ludicrous when I understood absolutely everything he wrote on the blackboard. He suggested I need a _tutor_. He's practically asking to get fired."

Izzy's eyes glowed mischievously.

"I didn't say I was going to do that," Clary said quickly before her best friend could speak her mind.

Now Izzy's gaze turned pleading.

Clary rolled her, stood from her bed, and brought her bag over to her bed. "You're ridiculous," she said as she pulled out her math textbook, notebook, and phone.

"At least then you two can make out without any rules getting in the way."

"Isabelle Sophia Lightwood. Do I have to remind you that I have a boyfriend?"

She sighed. "No."

Just then, the phone in Clary's hand buzzed. She glanced down to see Simon's name, and slid her thumb across the screen to see his text.

_Heyo, math buddy. Figure out #37 yet?_

She smiled and typed back.

_I haven't even started._

Clary looked up to find Izzy giving her a look.

"Who's that?" she nodded at the device.

She shrugged. "A friend I made in class," she said as her cell vibrated again. "In fact," Clary continued, "I have an idea."

"What's that?"

"Talk to him while I do homework. Oh, and please make sure to let him know that it's you who's talking to him. I don't want him getting weirded out."

Isabelle saluted. "Ay, ay, captain."

Clary tossed her mobile to her best friend and settled on her bed. She spread out her school belongings and opened the book to the first page of the chapter. Clary hadn't taken math in over a year, but she remembered clearly that before she started working on problems, she would look over and work through each example. People who knew what she did always criticized her. They told her it was pointless to solve extra math problems when there were already too many assigned. But that didn't bother her. Clary knew that everyone had his or her own way of succeeding, and this was her way.

_Chapter 6.1: Integration by Parts._

Clary recalled this name all too well. Asshole had called on her and she didn't know the answer. Damn him. She was going to make sure that tomorrow, she wasn't going to make the same mistake. If Asshole was going to call on her, she was sure as hell answering him. Correctly, of course.

Clary scanned the next couple of pages, occasionally yawning. She memorized the formula (out loud) she was supposed to use for the following questions in the section. Izzy would roll her eyes at her now and then, but she didn't know how important this was for Clary. If she didn't pass this damn class, her father would stop paying for college. And she did not have enough money on her hands to pay thousands of dollars.

She worked on all the "evaluate the integral" questions with ease. Oddly, she had begun to enjoy solving them, but only if she got them right in the end, which fortunately for her, happened often. Clary would look up at her best friend from time to time, to find her smiling at Simon's texts. She was forever grateful that Izzy was enjoying his company, even though it was virtual at this point. But she hoped it would grow into something more.

Clary thought back to the period of time when Isabelle and her had a fight.

From the day Clary landed herself a boyfriend, Izzy had always wanted to meet him. But for some reason, Clary kept dodging the bullet. It wasn't that Sebastian was a bad guy, because he wasn't. But something about him made Clary very dependent on him. And that was a quality Isabelle loathed.

Circumstances got even worse after that. Isabelle soon realized that Clary and Sebastian were growing more and more clingy everyday. That was one of the worst days Clary had gone through. Clary admitted it was her fault. She shouldn't have forgotten about Izzy, but she also didn't want to lose spending time with her boyfriend. She wasn't great at handling two things to begin with, so she had no clue how to fix the situation.

Thankfully, Izzy came around and helped Clary. She made sure she figured out how to be an independent girl. And Clary did figure it out. Because of her best friend, she had the best relationship with her boyfriend.

Since Isabelle assisted her through her problems, Clary wanted something good to happen to Izzy too. And she suspected her math buddy would have something to do with it.

* * *

It had poured thunderously outside until Isabelle left her house.

"I swear this state hates me," she muttered as she had tied her boots and popped open her simple, black umbrella.

Clary was about to argue with her regarding that subject, but the rain had miraculously stopped as soon as Isabelle was out of sight. Thankfully, too, because Clary was so used to the warm weather in California, that she wasn't ready for this humidity and rain in New York.

She walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Her stomach growled as she scanned through the delicious options. Clary finally settled on frozen pizza. Something nice and easy, and very, very scrumptious.

Clary stuck the pizza in the microwave and wandered over to her phone, sitting on the island. Her brows furrowed as she slid it to unlock and found a voicemail notification from Valentine. She touched the screen and her father's voice was soon resounding in the kitchen.

"Clarissa," he said. It was as if he was standing right next to her. "I will be stuck at work until very late—possibly until tomorrow morning. Lock the doors before you head to sleep, and I will see you before you leave for class."

A beep sounded, indicating the message was over. Clary sighed in relief. At least she could sit at home comfortably tonight, talk more with her boyfriend, and watch movies on Netflix until she fell asleep. It sounded like a blissful night.

But, what she wanted to do and what happened instead were two completely different things. Unfortunately, Clary realized she hadn't finished her online homework, which was additional to her written one. She also had forgotten to read the next chapter in the book, to stay ahead of the class. So instead of watching more episodes of One Tree Hill, Clary read and worked on problems.

And before she realized, her eyes closed. She dreamt of a blond-haired and a golden-eyed man.

* * *

A loud noise clanged near Clary's ear, causing her to fall off the couch. She rubbed her eyes and looked around to find Valentine bent over pieces of glass near the TV. Clary stood and blinked to get a clearer view of what was going on in front of her. Her father was on the phone, which was pressed between his shoulder and his right ear. His hands were bleeding as he picked up the shards and the flowers that were in the vase.

Clary's brows furrowed. "Dad?"

Valentine glanced up at her, anger flashing through his eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed as he covered the mouth piece.

"I-um," she stuttered. "I fell asleep studying last night."

"I have clients coming in," his voice grew harder. "Either leave or get a change of clothes before they arrive. I cannot have them seeing my daughter looking like a rag doll."

Clary smiled sweetly and let some venom seep into her tone. "Aw, at least I look like a doll to you. How long has it been, _father_, since you've had a genuine conversation with me?"

Valentine narrowed his eyes and stood, then muttered into his phone before he set it on the table.

"Watch your tongue, young lady."

"No." Clary was being stubborn, and she knew it, but this was the only way to get a rise out of her father. She wanted to fight with him. She wanted to fight with him on everything he threw upon her ever since her mother died. She wanted to talk about Jocelyn's death-not ignore it like it never happened.

"You know what? I don't think I'll go anywhere." Clary plopped on the couch behind her. "I'd love to meet these troubled clients."

For a split second, confused crossed Valentine's face. "Troubled?"

"Anyone that uses you as their lawyer _must_ be troubled."

And of course, then confusion was replaced with anger. His eyes hardened. "You should get going, Clarissa," he hissed, "_before_ you say anything else you shouldn't."

"Whatever," Clary muttered, and pushed herself off the couch. She gathered her school belongings and headed for her room. Clary glanced at the clock above her desk and noticed she had about an hour to get to class. Quickly, she picked out clothes she knew Isabelle would approve of, and one Valentine would not. All the more reason to wear it.

She padded over to her bathroom and hung her clothes on the hook before turning on the faucet. Hot water sprayed from the nozzle as she stepped into the stream. For the first time in a very, very long time, Clary was enjoying her shower. She enjoyed thinking about how she would answer Mr. Herondale's questions today in class. She enjoyed thinking about how she would show BB that she knew more than her. A huge smile spread across her lips as Clary imagined flirting with Mr. Herondale in front of—

Clary paused. Flirting with Mr. Herondale? Was she going crazy? She shook her head and turned off the supply of the water. Maybe she should call Sebastian. Or text him. Or just look at some of his pictures. Anything. She should not be thinking of Mr. Herondale in that way. Not even how he might look with his shirt off, or naked in the shower...

_Shut up, Clary, _she scolded herself. _You're not helping anyone._

With even more speed than before, Clary dried and toweled her hair. She stepped into a short, black skirt, and pulled on floral-printed purple shirt. Afterward, Clary proceeded to tame her wild, fiery curls, and settled with a high ponytail, with a wavy strand loose in front of her face.

Clary contemplated if this was too much for just a class, but she figured it was worth it if Valentine would yell at her. But, when she descended the stairs, she couldn't find him. She crossed the room and peeked out the window, only to find an empty space where her father's Mercedes had been.

She sighed, trudged back to her bedroom, and packed her bag for class. She would have to deal with Valentine later. For now, she wanted to pretend she didn't have a bad relationship with her father. And that was exactly what she was going to do.

* * *

"I see you're all working diligently on the warm-up," Mr. Herondale said.

Clary looked up to find him leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he scanned his students. Today, he wore a loose green t-shirt matched with khaki shorts. She'd never imagined khaki shorts were attractive, but somehow, Mr. Herondale looked... too good in them. He seemed like someone who could be a model for Hollister or Abercrombie & Fitch. Someone with great blond hair. Someone with toned arms. Someone with—

"Whatcha get for the answer, Ginge?"

She smiled and glanced at Simon, who sat to her left again. The minute his eyes spotted Clary in the sea of students, he quickly had made his way over to her and plopped into the seat next to her. She was glad she had someone like him in her life. He brought a smile to her face everytime they spoke.

"I don't know. I got distracted," she replied honestly.

He rolled his eyes and pointed to the solution written neatly on his paper. "Copy it down before he calls on you."

"I doubt it." But nevertheless, Clary copied the answer onto her piece of paper and went back to doodling.

"As you all might have noticed from the syllabus online, on Tuesdays, the class will be split in half. I'll lecture for about an hour or so, and the other hour will be recitation. Recitation will be taught by an assistant of mine, and she will give you guys practice problems to do," Mr. Herondale said.

Everyone groaned.

"I know this news must be a shock to you all—to not being able to see my face the entire time—but I assure you, Aline is almost as beautiful as I am," he continued. "Almost."

"I'd love to see this girl named Aline," Simon murmured beside her.

Clary smacked him upside the head. "What happened to giving Izzy a try?"

"Hey," he complained, rubbing his head, "I'm a guy. I like to survey the species before settling on a fish."

She blinked in confusion, but let it drop. It seemed like when Simon was in his "I'm a guy and this is what we do" mode, there was nothing that could stop him. Except perhaps Dungeons and Dragons, which he kept mentioning he loved playing, and hoped Isabelle did too. But little did he know, Isabelle was allergic to anything video game-related. Clary believed that on their date, later on in the afternoon, the conversation would cover Simon's nerd side.

"Has anyone figured out the answer?" Mr. Herondale asked, but his gaze landed on Clary instead of anybody else.

She felt blood pool in her cheeks and looked away hastily. What was it about him that made her feel like a high-schooler? She wasn't sixteen anymore, so why the feeling of shyness?

"Great, come on up and explain it to us," he spoke to a sandy-haired boy sitting in the very back.

The boy finished the problem in no time and returned to his seat.

Mr. Herondale inspected the solution and bobbed his blond head when his eyes came across a step that was correct.

"Alright," he said at last, "That was done correctly. If anyone has any questions, ask your neighbor, or come to office hours after class today. I'll be in my office all afternoon," he paused and raised his brows at the students. "Am I really that boring to listen to that I get no response?"

People shook their heads while Simon nodded. Clary let out a giggle and quickly placed her hand over her mouth to cover the sound.

Mr. Herondale pursed his lips. "Do I need to tell you guys a story about my life to make sure everyone's still alive?"

"Yeah!" Everyone replied enthusiastically.

Mr. Herondale rolled his eyes. "_Now_ you guys say something."

"Please, Mr. Herondale?" BB begged.

He turned his back to her. "Once we're done with this chapter. Let's get on with trigonometric integrals and substitutions."

And so the lecture began. Clary tried focusing, but Simon's consistent bobbing of his leg distracted her. Every few seconds or so, she would kick him, hoping that would make him stop, but it kept getting worse. After a bit, she decided to text him. She fished out her phone from her bag and typed her question.

_What is up with your leg?_

Since Simon kept his phone on the table, next to all his school belongings, there was a loud buzz when Clary's message was received to him. Thankfully, people were too busy hanging on to their teacher's every word to notice what was happening around them.

Simon took his cell and hid it under the table to open up the text.

Clary wrote down everything that was on the board, and to make her notes prettier, she added a couple sunflowers, roses, and other random flowers on the page. In the corner, she started drawing a sun, when her phone vibrated. She peeked at what Simon said.

_Date with Isabelle._

She raised her brows, and wrote back.

_Your leg is nervous that you have a date with my best friend?_

"Hey, Aline."

Clary and Simon both looked up to find a dark-haired girl, with sharp, yet pretty features standing near the doorway. She wore a simple blue dress and tugged on the strap of her backpack.

"Hey, handsome."

Mr. Herondale flashed her a smile. "You've got pretty good timing."

She grinned. "I know."

He faced the students. "Everyone, Aline. Aline, everyone. Get to know each other. Learn. Practice. I'll be in my office if anyone needs me, or if anyone wants to see my face." Mr. Herondale grabbed his folder and water bottle from the table.

Clary hoped he'd stay, but unfortunately she knew he wouldn't. She looked at the page in front of her, filled with notes and doodles. One more hour left. How was she going to make it?

"Clary?"

She raised her head to find Mr. Herondale making his way toward her instead of leaving.

She furrowed her brows. "Is something wrong?"

"You need to come with me."

* * *

_Thank you for being awesome. xoxo_


	3. Chapter 3: Expulsion

**Summer Term**

* * *

Summary:_ "...He's supposedly the hottie professor of the summer." "Ew, Izzy." "Don't tell me you wouldn't bang a hot professor."_

Disclaimer:_ The Mortal Instruments and all its associated characters, places and events all belong to Cassandra Clare and the copyright holders. This is a non-profit fan work and no copyright infringement is intended._

Acknowledgement:_ 1. Thank you to the bestest beta out there. She's my favorite. *heart* Thanks for making my words pretty! 2. Also, thank rippingbutterflywings always supporting me. You never cease to amaze me with your stubbornness (one of my favorite things about you ;)) and awesomeness. _

A/N:_ Thank you everyone for liking this story. I'm so happy that you guys are enjoying it. Although I have not been able to answer all your reviews, I love and cherish each one. So, thank you for that. Also, I have finally come up with an updating schedule. I'll be updating once a month (twice if I'm not too busy). _

* * *

**Chapter Three: Expulsion**

Oh, God, he wanted to see her. Alone. Clary had never been asked to meet with a teacher _alone._ Her heart jumped to her throat and she swallowed hard to try to rid the nauseousness that had started in the pit of her stomach. She sat frozen in her chair, not able to comprehend what he'd just told her to do.

Her sweaty hands shook as she grabbed her belongings and followed Mr. Herondale, receiving odd looks from her classmates as she passed them. She didn't blame them. Clary was as clueless as they were. The same question ran through her mind. _Was she in trouble? _She hoped it wasn't because of the spat she had with him yesterday.

Her legs felt like jello when she stared at Mr. Herondale's back as he was leaving the room, going up the stairs, and into his office. The door stood ajar, but she stopped just shy of the room, wondering if he would invite her in. But after standing there for more than a couple awkward moments, and clearly no indication from Mr. Herondale for her to enter, Clary stepped over the threshold. She found him facing away from her, holding a stack of papers. She walked over to him and contemplated whether or not she should speak up. Just as she was about to, he turned toward her and nodded at the chair in front of him. Clary obliged.

He dropped the stack of papers on the table and leaned against the wall behind him, his arms crossed over his chest. Clary nervously picked at a piece of thread hanging from her skirt and looked anywhere but at him. She noticed his office was uncluttered. There were no pictures on his desk and everything that was there was neatly arranged. She remembered how he mentioned to the class that he wasn't comfortable sharing information about himself to anyone. Clary could relate easily to that. Although she had told Sebastian some things, he still wasn't aware of many events that had happened in her life regarding her father. She only let him in because he always used to complain that she wouldn't share any part of her life with him. Little did he know, the less he was aware of, the better it was for him. Valentine wasn't a fan of her boyfriend anyway—and vice-versa—so it wasn't hard for Clary to keep Seb away.

"I got a call from a Mr. Morgenstern today."

Clary's head snapped up at that. Mr. Morgenstern? Mr. Morgenstern, as in her father? Why would her father call her teacher? Questions swirled in her head, but all that spilled from her mouth was a small, "Oh."

"Oh?" Mr. Herondale asked incredulously, his voice hardening as he continued. "That's all you have to say?"

She ignored his question. "What did he say?" Clary pulled on the thread a little harder.

"He asked me to speak to you about your behavior regarding this class."

Clary's mouth fell open. She felt as though she had been punched in the gut and all the air had been sucked out of her. Her father couldn't talk to her about her so-called "behavior"? Instead he spoke with her teacher about it?

"This isn't preschool anymore where I'm supposed to help teach you how to act. Your parents should be aware of what to do with their own kid, and you should be old enough to act appropriately on your own," he said bitterly.

Clary's eyes stung. She clenched her fists, hoping the nails digging into her skin would stop the flood of tears threatening to flow. _If he only knew everything that was going on. _She wanted to tell him that her father would never do this if her mom were still alive, but the words stuck in her mouth and she sincerely doubted he cared.

Instead, she bit her bottom lip and focused on the odd geometric pattern in the carpet. Each shape was colored in red, black, and white, and her eyes trailed the colors over and over again. _Red. Black. White. Red. Black. White. Red. Black. White._

Mr. Herondale walked around the table and whirled Clary's chair so she faced him. He crouched down, and Clary noticed his grip on the chair was strong, his knuckles turning white.

He leaned into her, and his hand rose to cup her chin, gently lifting it up. Clary slowly met his gaze, gold burning into green. Her lips parted and his eyes dropped to her mouth.

Clary's breathing sped. She unthinkingly moved in closer to him, their faces mere centimeters apart. His minty-fresh breath fanned across her face, and then he suddenly jerked back as if she'd burned him. Several emotions crossed his face: confusion, anger, and something else Clary couldn't pinpoint.

"I—" he said, running his hand through his golden locks. Clary had an urge to reach out and touch his soft-looking curls, but he was already up and was backing away.

"Ja-Mr. Herondale." Clary corrected herself and got up as well, pushing the chair away from her. "I'm sorry about my dad calling you."

But he wasn't looking at her. He stared out the window, and it seemed like he was somewhere else, somewhere far, far away. His voice was flat when he finally spoke. "I don't particularly enjoy receiving calls from bastards like him."

A gasp fell from Clary's lips. She stalked over to him and pulled on his arm as hard as she could. He didn't move an inch. "What the hell did you call my father?"

Mr. Herondale looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "A bastard."

Anger coursed through Clary's veins. He had no right to call her father that. No one did. Maybe except for her, but certainly not her friends, and most definitely not her teacher who seemed to think too highly of himself. Without thinking, she watched as her hand cracked across her teacher's cheek, causing him to rock back on his heels. She covered her mouth in realization and backed away, completely mortified.

Clary didn't have the nerve to look at him before she fled his office. She ran down the stairs, tears threatening to pour down her cheeks. She turned a corner and stopped, pressing herself hard against the wall and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, her face buried in her hands.

She was going to get suspended, or worse, expelled. Clary couldn't stop the tears as her body wracked with fear. The same words kept replaying through her head: expulsion, expulsion, expulsion. God, her father was going to kill her. She was going to prove him right by not doing anything correct in her life.

"Ginge?"

Clary lifted her head to find Simon standing in front of her. He looked concerned, his brows knitted together. Simon sat down beside her as she bit her lip to stop herself from crying in front of him.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head.

"C'mon. Tell me if I need to kick his ass for hurting my friend."

Without meaning to, Clary's mouth curled into a small smile.

"Does that mean he _does_ need his bony ass kicked?"

Clary trained her eyes at a spot on the wall in front of her. "I think I might get expelled," she finally said, no longer trying to avoid the obvious. If she was going to get kicked out of school, then everyone might as well know about it.

He gaped at her. "You're kidding."

"Do you think I would joke around about tha—"

"Clary?"

Both Simon and Clary glanced up at the voice. Isabelle. She wore a simple blue dress, her dark hair pulled into an elaborate chignon. Her eyes looked at Clary, then to Simon, and back.

"What's going on?" Isabelle asked her slowly, as if she were talking to a child, and took a seat in front of her.

The words tumbled out of Clary's mouth. "I might be in huge trouble."

"What happened?"

Clary watched Izzy's dark eyes widen as she continued to explain everything (except the part where she had an almost intimate moment with her teacher) to them. She noticed Simon kept quiet, listening intently, whereas Isabelle gasped every now and then at appropriate times. Clary couldn't stop herself from tearing up when she told them about slapping Mr. Herondale, and how she had run out before he could respond. She couldn't even remember his expression afterward. All she'd cared about was leaving his office as quickly as possible.

Once Clary finished, she sighed and waited for her friends to yell at her, or to tell her that she had made a huge mistake. Instead, Isabelle pulled her into a tight hug, and Simon tried to console her by explaining that she wouldn't get expelled.

"But I slapped my teacher," she interjected.

Simon shrugged. "I personally thought he was an asshole anyway. He deserved it."

"Yeah," Isabelle added, "And Herondale shouldn't have called your father a bastard. Even though he is one." She grinned.

Clary cracked a smile. "Thanks, guys."

"No problem," Simon said, and helped Clary stand. "Though," he added carefully, "I do think you should go back and apologize."

She looked at Simon, and then Izzy. "Should I?"

Her best friend nodded. "I don't think it'll hurt."

"Okay..." she said somewhat uncertainly.

"Do you want us to go with you?"

Clary shook her head. "I should do this alone. But," she paused to grin at them, "enjoy your date."

"Will you be okay?" Isabelle asked.

"If anything happens, I'll let you know."

Clary hoped it wouldn't come to that. But knowing her luck lately, she just might need her friends' help.

* * *

Clary stood outside Mr. Herondale's office, her breathing almost to the point of hyperventilation. Her fists were clenched tightly, and she could feel her nails digging sharply into her skin. She wasn't sure what was going to happen. She wasn't even sure what she was supposed to say. That she was sorry, maybe? Beg him not to tell her father about the whole incident? Unfortunately, Mr. Herondale didn't seem like the type to listen to her. That was clear when he didn't stop calling her dad a bastard.

The door to his office was closed. Just as she raised her hand to twist the doorknob, she heard a couple voices speaking at the same time. She leaned in closer, trying to listen to the muffled conversation, but she couldn't make out the words. Clary guessed he could be in a meeting with someone, or maybe even a student.

Just as she was about to turn around, her phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced at the screen and it said, "New Mail." Clary opened up the email and scanned through it.

_Clarissa,_

_I am in a meeting, but I expect to see you home when I return. I have a few things to speak with you about._

_Valentine_

Her heart sank. Not because he wanted to see her or because her father called her "Clarissa" instead of "Clary", but because he refused to refer to himself as her father anymore, whether it be in an email or in person. He only cared about how she made him look in front of people. It was as if she were his prized possession, only she was failing to make him proud.

Clary maneuvered her way through the hallways and headed out to go home. There was no wind as the sun beat down above her. She looked up to feel the warmth on her face, letting it soak into her skin. Clary loved how the heat made her feel like she was back in California, back where everything in her life was simple. That she didn't need Valentine to give her a parent's love. There were days, months even, when Clary yearned to just be in her father's embrace. To be told that what she wanted to do, what she wanted to be, was all right. The only person, besides her friends and her mom, who'd ever done that for her was Sebastian. To him, Clary was perfect. He believed she was. But her boyfriend wasn't enough.

It wasn't his fault though, he didn't know what she was going through. Then again, he didn't ask either, and Clary didn't tell.

A tear trailed down her cheek and she raised her hand to wipe it away. She wanted her mom. She needed her help and guidance.

Her phone buzzed again, but Clary was done with talking to people today. She wanted to get the "talk" over with Valentine, and then she wanted to curl up in her bed and cry herself to sleep.

She went to pull her bag in front of her but felt nothing. Her bag was missing. Clary's heart raced as she turned around and started walking quickly back the way she had come. Then she stopped short in her tracks as realization dawned on her. She replayed the scene in her head when she was in Mr. Herondale's room. She remembered dropping her bag next to the chair, and, skipping over the gory details of when she hit him, she'd fled. Without her bag. God. Dammit.

She fumed. It was all his damn fault. He shouldn't have blamed her "parents" or shouldn't have called her father names. Granted, Clary was usually good at keeping her temper down, but maybe it was the fight that had happened with Valentine recently. Or maybe it had to do with her teacher, who kept her on edge for some reason. It could be both of them. Both of them trying to be the death of her. Clearly she was being melodramatic and she knew it, but Clary needed her bag back. It had _everything_ in it. Her math book. Her notebook. Pencils. Although she knew she'd have writing utensils at home, she liked using her favorite mechanical pencil. Then there were her headphones, and most importantly, the keys to her house. Absolutely great.

Clary pulled her phone out and was about to text Isabelle, when she remembered Isabelle and Simon were on a date. Instead of sending her a panic text about how she was locked outside her house, she asked her how it was going with them. Once she was done, she decided she needed a break from the world for a little bit. And she knew just where to go.

* * *

Academy Records & CDs, the sign above her read. She peered through the window and found a myriad of people in there. Without waiting another moment, she pulled on the door and it swung open. Clary stepped over the threshold and found herself sifting through the crowd easily and heading toward the back of the store.

There were rows and rows of shelves, stacked with more CDs than Clary could count. Each one was organized under a genre, and Clary directed herself toward "pop". She wanted to start with something happy that she could dance to when (or if) she ever went home today. She stopped in front of an artist named Ariana Grande. She pulled the CD out and noticed the title "Yours Truly". She'd heard of Ariana, but she hadn't listened to her music. Clary was willing to give her a try.

She moved along and picked out "Friends with Benefits" from the TV show One Tree Hill. Ever since she'd found out that the show had launched music for the world to hear and purchase, she'd wanted to buy it. Clary had also heard about a song named "I'll be the Wings that Keep Your Heart in the Clouds", and turned a corner to search for a CD for that. She recalled how one of her friends back in California always gushed about it being her favorite song, and how Clary should listen to it. She supposed it was time to heed her friend's advice.

She squirmed past people, murmuring, "Excuse me" every so often. But she'd forgotten about how no one in New York said that. Isabelle was right: both of them were California girls, but even though that was true, she believed part of her heart always belonged to New York, to her mother.

She glanced down the aisle and froze. A familiar blond male was flipping through a couple CDs that he held. Clary debated whether or not she should make a run for it. On one hand, Clary knew she couldn't avoid him forever, since she would encounter him in class the next day anyway, but on the other, running away from the problem didn't seem like a bad idea.

Clary sighed and decided to bite the bullet. She took as small of steps as she could—which wasn't hard for her considering her strides weren't long to begin with. But somehow, he looked up at her, his tawny eyes locking into her emerald ones. Clary swallowed and walked over to where he stood. Her gaze fell to his hands, where he gripped the music, and noticed how long and slender they were, as if they were a pianist's hands.

He cleared his throat, causing Clary to glance up at him. She had to tilt her head back to see his face.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Mr. Herondale cocked his head to the side, and Clary elicited a small gasp when she saw the faint outline of her fingers on his cheek. "Buying porn. You too?"

Clary's own cheeks pooled with blood. "No." But her voice came out shakier than she'd expected.

He smirked, as if he knew what his words were doing to her.

"I'm sorry," said Clary. She might as well get the embarrassment and expulsion over with.

He'd turned toward the shelf, pulling out a stack of random CDs. Clary noticed he chose albums by Mayday Parade, Paramore, Backstreet Boys, and NSYNC. She smiled at the last two, happy to see some people still enjoyed the 90s music.

"For checking me out in class? Don't worry, I'm used to it."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't. BB—I mean the blonde girl that sits in the front of the class—does. But," she paused, "I really am. I shouldn't have slapped you."

He shrugged and slid an album back onto the shelf. "I would have been mad too."

"Well, regardless, I'm still sorry for how I reacted, Mr. Herondale."

He ran a hand through his hair. "You don't have to call me that outside of class."

"What do I call you then?"

"You can call me Jace."

She nodded and held her breath as she asked her next question. "Am I expelled?"

He quirked a brow. "Why would you be?"

She bit her bottom lip and dropped her eyes to the ground. "Because I hit you." _Not just 30 minutes ago..._

Jace chuckled. Clary glanced up in surprise, wondering what the hell she said that made him laugh.

"No, you're not expelled."

She blinked. "Are you sure? I thought it was ille—"

He raised his hand to cover her mouth. "It'll be our little secret."

Clary stood motionless as she realized Mr. Heronda—_Jace's _hand was on her lips. Wherever he touched her, heat bubbled beneath her skin. Clary watched as Jace slowly registered what he was doing and he dropped his hand quickly. She grasped her CDs tightly to her chest, trying to slow her breathing. Clary had to keep reminding herself that she wasn't single and that she wasn't allowed bubbly heat feelings about her teacher.

"What do you have there?" Jace nodded at the stack in her hands.

"Um..." She tried to hide her music collection behind her. It wasn't that she had a bad taste in music, but Clary mainly listened to pop, and most people didn't enjoy that.

His arms brushed against hers as he reached behind her to grab the albums. Bubbly heat, all over again. She fought back a shiver. Her fingers loosened their grip as she unwillingly let them go. He went through each of them and chuckled. "Ariana Grande?"

Clary snatched the CD from him. "She's great," she said defensively.

Jace lifted his free hand in surrender, then continued to look through her collection. He showed Justin Bieber's disk to her and raised his eyebrows.

"What, you don't have any guilty pleasures?"

He grinned at her. "Only one."

Clary stepped closer to him, their bodies centimeters apart. She could smell the cologne he wore, and the fragrance was so good, so delicious. It was unlike anything she'd ever smelled. She didn't know what it was, but she wanted to spritz it all over herself.

"Britney Spears?"

Jace rolled his eyes. "I don't have that bad of taste."

"Ed Sheeran? One Direction?" she asked, hoping it was any of them.

"I don't think you're going to guess it," he finally said, after Clary had named several boy bands.

Clary frowned. "Is it a girl? Is she old?"

"No?"

"You're confusing me."

Jace's mouth turned up in a sexy smirk. "Good."

She threw her hands up. "I give up."

He flashed her a smile. "Those weren't half bad guesses. I hope you do better on your exams though."

Clary blinked in surprise. "Of course I will."

He ignored her comment. "I'll be looking forward to your sketches."

Before Clary had the chance to volley back a reply, he pulled out his phone and spoke. "I have to get going."

"Oh." Clary had forgotten momentarily where they were. "Me too."

"See you in class, Clary," he said as he passed her.

"Jace?"

He twisted his body halfway to face her. "Yeah?"

She chewed on her lip.

"Do you..." she trailed off, her nerves getting to her.

Jace turned fully toward her, his arms crossed over his chest. Clary hadn't realized what he was wearing until now. She finally allowed herself to look at him. He'd changed from his khaki shorts to basketball ones, which hung low on his hips, with a threadbare gray t-shirt clinging tightly to him and accentuating the lean chest underneath. She could see the outline of his biceps and momentarily longed to run her hand over his arm. In his hair. On his body. Everywhere.

"Are you alright?" Jace asked, walking back to her. Concern crossed his face.

"What? Oh—" Clary shook her head, and she was almost certain her face resembled a ripe tomato. She fervently hoped it wouldn't come to his attention. She blushed more in his presence than any other person she'd been with, even her own boyfriend, to her surprise. "I was wondering," she continued, "if you had my bag. I think I left it in your office." Her words were rushed and she had never felt more mortified in her life. What was wrong with her, getting all tongue-tied in front of this guy. She had a boyfriend, for Heaven's sake. She wasn't supposed to feel this way about anyone else, especially her _teacher_. Clary knew it wasn't just lust that she was feeling for him; it was something more, and that scared her.

"Yeah, I do. It's at my apartment."

"Oh."

They stood there in awkward silence. Clary had no idea how to ask him about getting it back.

"You can come and pick it up," he finally said.

"Right now?" Her heart fluttered.

"Now's as good as any."

* * *

_Hope you liked. xoxo_

_*Check out the cover picture ddpjclaf made for this story. The link is on my profile (since FFn won't let me adjust the image size on here). It's awesome!_


	4. Chapter 4: Messed Up Bastard

**Summer Term**

* * *

Summary:_ "...He's supposedly the hottie professor of the summer." "Ew, Izzy." "Don't tell me you wouldn't bang a hot professor."_

Disclaimer:_ The Mortal Instruments and all its associated characters, places and events all belong to Cassandra Clare and the copyright holders. This is a non-profit fan work and no copyright infringement is intended._

Acknowledgement:_ 1. Thanks so much to my lovely beta, ddpjclaf, who makes my words super pretty and flowy. Love ya. xx 2. Also, thanks to rippingbutterflywings for making me write everyday (not like you give me a choice or anything...). xo_

A/N:_ Enjoy. :)_

* * *

**Chapter 4: Messed Up Bastard**

"So," Jace said as the two of them stepped inside the train. He motioned for Clary to take the nearest seat, while he leaned against the pole for support, his hand curled around the railing. "What does BB stand for?"

Heat spread across Clary's cheeks as she sat down. She looked up to find him gazing curiously at her. "Just something really stupid," she mumbled.

His perfectly arched golden eyebrow rose in response, clearly waiting for her to spill the nickname. A shot of jealousy coursed through her—she'd always wished she could do that. Nevertheless, she wasn't sure if she should tell him why BB was BB to her. He was, after all, her teacher. And she really wasn't supposed to feel the pit in her stomach when a certain annoying blonde idiot flirted with him in class. Nor was she supposed to find him somewhat attractive. Okay, maybe a little more than somewhat...

But Clary was already doing something she wasn't supposed to do: going to her teacher's apartment. To get her backpack, nonetheless, but she was still going. Students didn't do that. So telling Jace about the nickname shouldn't be worse than that.

Clary let out a long sigh and gave in. "Bleach Blondie."

She felt him shake beside her and turned to find him laughing.

Clary frowned. "What?"

Jace shook his head, a smile still playing on his lips. "That _is _stupid."

She had the urge to punch him in the stomach—since that was the closest body part of his to her—but tried to refrain herself. Though she did wonder how many times she could get away with hitting her professor. "Don't tell me you didn't do that to the people you weren't fond of."

"I didn't," said Jace, grinning. He tilted his head to the side, his brows furrowing as if he were trying to calculate a complex math equation. "Why don't you like her?"

Clary blew her hair from her face. That was a valid question, but even she didn't know precisely why she didn't like the other girl. Of course, there was the most obvious reason, but was there another one? In all honesty, Clary couldn't care for other reasons. She was all right with the one she currently had in mind.

A _ding_ sounded above Clary's head, followed by an announcement, saving her from answering his question. "Van Cortlandt Park, 242nd street."

Jace's head snapped up at the voice and glanced down at her. "That's us."

Clary gathered the CDs in her hands and stood up, flipping through them to make sure she had all of them. Heat spread over her cheeks when she remembered how exactly she came to be the owner of these particular CDs.

_She started toward the cash register to pay for the new music she'd selected. When she reached for her bag, she realized again, she didn't have it. Which also meant she didn't have her credit card or any cash on her either. She frowned and, with a disappointed sigh, turned around to return the CDs to the rack she'd picked them out from. _

_"Not getting those?" Jace asked from behind her. _

_She whirled around to find him walking toward her, his gaze on her hands. He came to a stop mere inches from her. Clary could smell his cologne and fought the urge to lean in. _

_"No," she finally replied once she'd come to her senses. "I don't have cash on me."_

_"Ah." He nodded and, without another word, he took the CDs from her. _

_"What are you doing?" _

_Instead of answering, Jace just grinned, turned back around, and made his way to the cashier. Clary hurried behind and stood on her tip-toes to peer over Jace's shoulder to see what was happening._

_"Will that be all?" the cashier asked. _

_"Yeah." Jace pulled out his wallet and threw a fifty dollar bill on the counter._

_The cashier looked at Jace, his eyebrows raised. "The total was forty—" _

_"Keep the change." Jace took the bags and handed one to Clary. _

_Clary's mouth dropped a little as her fingers curled stiffly around the bag he'd given her. _

_"That one's yours," he said, as if that clarified the reason for his actions._

_But all she could do was gape at him. Words stuck in her throat._

_"What?" he asked. "Didn't you want them?"_

_"I did, but—"_

_"You can pay me back later," he interrupted, as he looked at his cell phone screen. "Anyway," he continued, "We should get going. The subway leaves in about three minutes."_

_Clary didn't respond. She couldn't. She was still trying to comprehend what just happened. But Jace clearly wasn't waiting for her to reply since he was already out the door, not looking back to see if she was following. She sighed and clenched the bag tighter in her hand before hurrying after him. _

Jace walked fast. _Really _fast_._ Clary had to jog to keep up with his long strides.

"Will you slow down?" she said, letting some annoyance seep into her voice.

"It's your fault for having short legs," he replied, but slowed down a little for her to catch up.

When she did, she glared at him. "I'm not that short," she muttered, watching the cars drive by her in a rush. She noticed how everyone always was going about his or her own way. No one had a care in the world about what the other person was going through. She felt as if everyone around her was living a perfect, happy life and had no inside clue regarding her life whatsoever. Although she wasn't a fan of the busy life, it was the one thing she liked about this lifestyle, as odd as that was.

"You're slowing down again." Jace's deep voice broke through her thoughts.

"Or you just started walking faster," she countered.

He rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ. I've never met a more ridiculous person in my life. Well," he paused, "maybe one."

Clary was about to volley back an answer, but her curiosity was piqued. "Who?"

"Why don't you like Kaelie?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Answering my questions with your own."

He shrugged. "It's one of my endearing traits."

"More like annoying."

A smile flickered across his lips when thunder rumbled above them. Clary jumped, dropping her bag on the ground and clinging to Jace in fear. She tilted her head back to watch the sky rapidly change from sunny to dark, to almost black clouds.

"Are you alright?"

Clary blinked and her eyes traveled to where her hands were gripping Jace's biceps as tightly as they could. She noticed he was staring at her arms clutching on to him, and she nodded, slowly dropping them at her sides.

"Are you sure?" His tone indicated he wasn't fully convinced with her reply.

"Yeah. I—storms just scare me, that's all." She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to keep warm from the cold wind that had started to blow.

"We're almost—"

Clary's growling stomach cut his answer off. She pressed her hand to it, hoping the noise would stop, but it just grew louder each passing second. _God, could this get any more embarrassing? _

Jace chuckled. "Hungry?"

She shook her head and bent to grab the bag full of CDs. "I'll eat once I get home."

He looked at her skeptically.

Before Clary could reply, her stomach snarled loudly again, affirming that she needed food and needed it _now_. She tried to cover her stomach with her hands, wishing fervently that would make the sounds stop, but nothing helped.

"I'm fine, really." And to prove she was, she stalked past him in the direction of what she hoped to where he lived.

After a couple seconds, she heard footsteps behind her. She smiled triumphantly as it was him having to catch up to her this time.

They walked in silence for a while. She wanted to ask how far they were from his apartment—or house—but figured if they were going on foot, it shouldn't take long. Every now and then, a breeze would blow, rustling her hair around her face. Clary was rather enjoying the cool air now. It was never like this in California, and sometimes when she was in class during the regular term, she would daydream about how she used to stroll outside with her mom. Clary would hold her mother's finger and waddle alongside her when she took her out for fun.

She was so consumed in her thoughts that she didn't realize it had started raining until the sound of the water dripping incessantly from the sky brought her back to reality. Freezing drops seeped through her clothes and Clary shivered.

It was getting cold. So damn cold. Chills ran down her spine and goosebumps erupted over her skin on both of her naked arms. Another gust of wind blew in her direction, bringing forth a blast of shower.

"It's right down the street," Jace yelled over the wind. "C'mon, run."

Clary nodded and followed him. He was fast, but Clary was right on his heels. The sound of their feet slapping against the concrete reminded her of how when she was little, she used to participate in races. Her father and mother always came to her competitions. They'd bring banners, with her name written in large letters, along with a number one foam finger her mother used to wear. She remembered how, before the contests would start, her father would give her a pep talk and encourage her to do her best, and her mother supported her just as much. The memory brought a smile to her face even though the circumstances should have made her anything but.

By the time they reached his apartment, Clary and Jace were drenched. Water dripped from her hair and down her back. Jace opened the door to the lobby and let her in first. She waited for him to enter before trailing alongside him. Clary shivered as she followed Jace into the elevator, watching as he pressed the button for the eighth floor.

Seconds passed before they reached their destination. Both of them stepped out, walked down the hall, and then turned a corner. Clary stared at the ground as she walked beside Jace, noticing the cleanliness of the floor. She could see a reflection of herself: wet hair stuck to her face and her body was shivering from the cold.

Jace stopped in front of a door and pulled out his key. He unlocked it, and it swung wide open. Clary set foot inside as he flicked the lights on from behind her. Her teeth chattered as she rubbed her arms, trying to keep warm.

"C-can I use the bathroom?" she asked, twisting half her body to see him.

"Uh," Jace said, his hand cupping the nape of his neck. "Yeah. It's down the hall and to the left."

She bobbed her head. She turned and passed several rooms, though the entrances were closed. Clary wondered if Jace lived with anyone, or if he was here alone. But if he were here alone, what was the point of living in a grand place like this one?

Clary halted in front of a door and raised her hand to turn the knob. She stepped over the threshold and found herself in one of the cleanest bathrooms she'd ever been in in her life. She remembered the days when she slept over at Sebastian's and dreaded going to take a shower at his apartment. Most of the time, Seb's clothes were lying on the floor, his towel sitting on the counter near the facial hair he'd recently shaved off. The sight of the hair sticking to the faucet had almost made Clary throw up, but she tried to ignore it. Compared to Jace, Seb's place was a pigsty. She was surrounded by perfectly white-washed walls, sink, and shower. There were matching blue-and-green rugs, towels, and curtains. Mr. Herondale seemed to like his place in order.

Tearing her gaze away from her ogling of how spotless his bathroom was, she focused her attention on her wet hair, and her shirt clinging to her skin. Clary was glad she hadn't decided to wear a white shirt today, otherwise she could imagine how uneasy she would have felt in front of Jace. Almost idly, she ran her fingers through the untamed curls and scrunched it, hoping to get rid of the water dripping. Once she was satisfied—or as satisfied as she could be with a lion's mane—Clary left the restroom.

She headed toward the living room but there was no sign of her teacher. Clary frowned and contemplated whether or not she should try to find him. On one hand, she didn't want him to think she was snooping around in his house, but on the other, she really wanted to find her bag. In the end, she stayed where she was and figured he would show up soon. Hopefully.

As if on cue, a couple seconds later, Jace came into view. He stopped short as soon as he saw her. She felt his gaze lazily run up and down her. A slight shiver went through her body when he reached her eyes.

A towel hung around his neck and his blond hair was disheveled, curling up around his ears. He was only in a simple black v-neck shirt with pajama pants, but something about him wearing that made her stomach turn. _Think about Sebastian. Sebastian. Sebastian. Sebastian. _

"Did you want your bag or are you just going to stand there and check me out?" She could hear the smile in his voice.

Disbelief colored her tone. "I was not—"

"Save the excuses. I'm used to it." He shrugged and threw his towel on the sofa. The asshole—as attractive as he may be—_shrugged_ as if he encountered girls ogling him everyday.

"_Mr. Herondale, _where is my bag?" Clary restrained herself from speaking rudely to him. But, God, he infuriated her so much. He knew just what to say to get on her nerves.

Jace smirked, clearly pleased that he was able to ruffle her feathers. "On the couch."

Clary furrowed her brows and turned around. Sure enough, her bag lay on the sofa. She walked the couple steps to pick it up and peer inside to check if all of her belongings were still inside.

"Relax, I didn't steal anything," came Jace's voice from behind her.

She startled and her head hit against _something _hard. She realized that _something _was Jace and heard him swear. Clary rubbed the spot where it throbbed. She whirled to face him and almost laughed at the sight in front of her. Jace cupped his chin and opened and closed his mouth several times.

She covered her mouth in attempt to hide her smile. When he caught her looking at him, his golden eyes narrowed. "You think this is _funny_?" He took a small step toward her. She could feel the heat emanating from his body. Clary's stomach was filled with butterflies when she was suddenly aware of how close he was standing to her.

Automatically, Clary moved back and immediately felt the furniture against the back of her knees. "N-no," she breathed.

Jace raised his hand to tuck a rogue curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a moment against her skin before he dropped his hand to his side. Clary let out a shaky breath when she looked up at him. He was so tall. And so beautiful. All golden and hard jaw and soft skin and... curious eyes gazing at her.

"What?" she asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

He shook his head. "You should go."

Clary blinked. That was not at all what she'd expected him to say. Not after what he'd done. Or how his touch made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. Or how she could still feel where his fingers had lightly brushed against her temple. Clary clenched her fists to stop herself from thinking further. It didn't matter. He wanted her to go. Her heart sank as she stepped around him and walked to the door. Just as she was about to exit his apartment, a loud crash echoed throughout the room. The lights suddenly went out and the bag fell from Clary's hand in surprise. Her breathing sped as she realized the room was completely dark and there was no source of light anywhere. The pitter-patter of the rain grew louder each passing second.

"Clary?" He sounded worried. She heard his footsteps come closer and closer to her. "Are you alright?"

She'd barely uttered a word when Jace's hand wrapped around her wrist. His hand slid down to lace their fingers together, and she welcomed the warmth. The fear slowly emanated and despite the fact it felt foreign to her that it wasn't Sebastian comforting her, she was glad someone was. She made sure to keep her distance. But even then, at that moment, she was just a girl and he was a boy. A boy comforting a girl.

Somewhere, in the far depths of her mind, she heard a wheezing sound. Was it her teacher? She was about to break away to see if it was him, but it wasn't until Jace squeezed her hand tighter that she realized the noises were spilling from her mouth. She bit her bottom lip to stop it.

The sound of thunder reverberated throughout the room again, followed by flares of light illuminating the apartment, and the terror rose in her again. She needed to get out. She needed light. It was getting harder and harder for her to breathe. She slowly inhaled and exhaled. _Breathe Clary, breathe._ She tried to remind herself.

"Are you doing okay?" he asked softly.

Clary nodded and barely managed to speak. "I'm scared of the darkness."

"Don't worry. I've got you," Jace reassured her.

Clary blinked and slowly tilted her head to look at him. Dark shadows masked his face. Clary could only make out the clenching of his jaw and the creasing of his forehead. She wondered if he was aware of what he was doing. If he knew that whenever he touched her—whether it be by accident or on purpose—she wanted more. She wanted to feel more than just a brush. Than just a whisper of skin grazing against each other. And now she felt ashamed for wanting it more. She felt ashamed for not wanting that from her boyfriend. She felt ashamed that she wanted her teacher.

She needed to leave. If she didn't want the situation to get worse, she needed to leave right away. Just as he'd asked her. Clary stepped away from him, immediately missing the warmth and comfort of his touch. But she couldn't risk it. "Thank you," she mumbled before turning to leave.

Clary opened the door and headed down the hall. She heard footfall from behind her, and without glancing back, she knew it was him. It was strange that she knew him just from his footsteps.

"Clary..." he trailed off. "Wait."

She didn't stop. She pushed the button for the elevator, but it never came. She swore under her breath and turned toward the stairs. Eight flights of stairs. Wonderful. She shoved the door to the exit and started to descend. On the bright side, she was getting the only exercise she ever got. Izzy would be proud of her.

She didn't hear the door shut behind her, which made her suspect that Mr. Herondale was on her heels. His steps resounded in the building and Clary quickened hers. In a matter of seconds, he was right next to her. He matched her pace with his easily. Clary held on to the railing as she moved faster, but she was glad he was there. It was still dark and the only light she received was from the thunder flickering through the sky.

"Look, you can stay until the storm blows over."

"No thanks. I can manage on my own."

The fifth floor sign showed up. Clary couldn't be more thankful that she had to descend instead of ascend.

On the last stair of the fifth floor, Jace suddenly stood in front of her, blocking the way to the next set of steps. "Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?"

Clary looked up at him. She couldn't clearly see him, only when lightning flashed. Only then did she see the pained expression on his face. He fisted his hand in his golden curls and ran it through his hair several times before looking at her.

"You told me to leave," she said.

He sighed. "You can stay until the storm blows over," he repeated.

Clary snorted. _Snorted. _"Only to have you kick me out again? Please. Besides," she walked past him, but he moved into her way again, "the Mr. Morgenstern that spoke with you? He's waiting for me at home," she lied. There was no way he'd be home this early or at all. Her father liked to threaten her into thinking he'd do something, but he never did. He didn't care enough to. At first Clary had had a hard time accepting that, but now she was coming to terms with it.

Jace swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I shouldn't have been so harsh."

"Don't worry about it," she said airily. "I'm only here to get an A in the class. Nothing less. Nothing more."

Jace's tawny gaze hardened, but he didn't say anything.

Clary smirked. For the first time, he had nothing to say to her. She turned around and took the stairs leisurely, keeping close to the rail so that she wouldn't fall.

"Do you know the way back?"

Clary stopped mid-step. She glanced up and saw him walking down slowly toward her. "Of course I do. I've lived here most of my life."

"You don't act like it."

Anger coursed through her. "You don't know anything about me," she spat.

"You're right. I don't," he said softly. He was so close to her, almost within reach.

Clary rolled her eyes and moved away as she continued descending. Jace was too hot and cold for her. Either he was comforting her, or he was telling her to get out of his place. It didn't seem like it should be so hard to decide what he wanted. And now Clary didn't care. She'd wanted her bag and she had it.

Thankfully, they came up to a door with a sign overhead that read: First Floor. Clary shoved against the door and it thrust open. She froze in her steps. Rain poured down in thick sheets, making it hard for her to clearly see the people and cars bustling about. The streets ran with streams of water, and Clary wondered how she would ever get home in this mess. At this point, she just wanted to curl up in her bed and forget about how ridiculously frustrating her teacher was.

She leaned her head against the cool pane of the glass door and sighed. She watched as the steam spread from her breath. Clary had two choices: either she could call her father and ask him to pick her up, or she could ask Izzy to help. Although the second option was the one she most wanted to choose, she couldn't ruin her friends' date. Instead, she decided to risk calling her father.

Clary called him. Once. Twice. No answer. Just as she was about to give up and deal with the downpour, her phone vibrated. She looked down to open up the text. It was from her father.

_What do you want?_

Clary could almost hear him say that through his gritted teeth.

She took a deep breath and replied.

_Can you pick me up? _

She knew she was going to get crap from him. She could feel it. As much as she was dreading the car ride back home, she also didn't want to speak to her teacher anymore.

"Is someone coming to get you?" Jace asked from behind her.

Clary startled, _again_, but he wasn't near enough for her to hurt him again. She turned toward him. "My dad is."

Jace nodded curtly.

Clary's phone buzzed once more.

_Address._

Even his polite statements seemed like commands. Clary typed in the address and wondered how she hadn't thought of that before. It seemed clearer to her now that he'd started acting less and less like her father.

Clary dropped her mobile in her bag and searched through it for her wallet. Once she found it, she fished out the amount her CDs had cost and held out the bills to Jace.

He cocked his brow. "I don't need money."

"It's for the CDs. You said I could pay you back." Clary pushed her hand out a little further toward him.

"I don't need it," he repeated, an edge to his voice this time.

Clary threw her hands up in the air. "I don't get you."

Jace leaned against the wall, his ankles and arms crossed over his chest. A small smile pulled up at the corner of his lips as he studied her, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words spilled. What would she have said? His comments were making her head spin in circles.

Headlights flashed behind her and she whirled to look out the transparent door. Clary recognized the black Mercedes. Her father. He was here. That was faster than she'd anticipated. Though, she should have known it wouldn't take him long.

Clary watched him step out of the car in a dark suit with an umbrella, leaving the door open. He blended in with the storm going on outside. Her father scanned the building, and as soon as his gaze slid to Clary's, he started toward her, moving quickly. In a matter of seconds, he was inside, shaking the parasol to rid it of water and set it beside him.

To say he looked furious was the understatement of the year. His coal-colored eyes burned with anger as they flickered back and forth between Clary and Jace. Her father sauntered toward her, his jaw set. He grabbed Clary's wrist, pain shooting from his tight grip, and pulled her to his side.

"What are you doing here, Clarissa?" He growled, squeezing her wrist even harder. Clary bit her lip to stop from whimpering.

She felt dizzy. The room spun and she was starting to believe her father's grip stopped the blood from flowing. "Daddy, plea—" she managed.

Without realizing what was happening, her father's hand cracked across Clary's cheek. She stumbled and almost fell back had it not been for her father restraining her from moving anywhere. Unshed tears stung her eyes and she was too shocked to feel pain.

Valentine, _her own father_, had—she couldn't even complete the thought in her head.

And suddenly, the pain in her hand subsided as her father's hand was yanked away from her. Clary looked up, confused, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jace had gently pushed Clary behind him, and he stood protectively in front of her, his fists clenched.

"Get the hell away from my daughter!" her father roared.

"You are one messed up bastard," Jace said, his voice muted and deadly.

Clary couldn't focus on anything else besides the blood rushing through her fingers as she wiggled her fingers to get the sensations back.

"Clarissa, go in the car. Now." Valentine deadpanned.

She peered up at Jace, but he wasn't paying attention to her. He was staring at her father with a lethal expression. The fire she saw in her father's eyes were nothing compared to the one in Jace's. This Jace... this new Jace, was like an avenging angel ready to take on his nemesis.

"I said now," her father gritted, breaking into Clary's thoughts.

Keeping her head down, Clary faced the door and walked into the rain. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the cold water from trickling into her clothes again as tears ran down her face. She shut the door her father had left open and entered the car, silently thanking her father for not taking the keys with him. She turned the heat on as the warm wind billowed her hair about, and she pressed her hand against the vents to heat up her fingers.

She was soaked. Completely soaked. Though that was the least of her worries. Her wrist hurt and the pain in her cheek was finally starting to hit her. She couldn't wrap her head around this situation. On the one hand, she couldn't believe her father had raised a hand at her. But on the other, she was confused about what it was she saw between her father and her teacher. Her father hadn't looked pleased in the least. The way he'd glared at Jace, it seemed as if he knew him... somehow... but how? Clary knew she shouldn't jump to conclusions, but she couldn't get rid of the knowing look he'd given Jace. She'd have to ask him, but how to bring it up?

Sighing, she shivered and increased the heat once more. Her tears had stopped. She was numb now. She'd been feeling like that a lot lately. The only time she actually felt something was when Jace had held her hand, and his quiet voice assuring her everything would be alright. He made her feel safe, just from one touch. He made her feel. He made her remember what it was like to be safe. Be worried about. Clary couldn't remember the last time Sebastian had held her like that. The way Jace had. Protectively and sweetly. With Sebastian, it was always seemed ostentatious. Maybe it was because he knew she was the daughter of a rich lawyer. It'd never occurred to Clary that he possibly liked her for her money.

No. That couldn't be it. Her Sebastian wasn't like that. He was a nice guy. But in the back of her mind, she heard a tiny voice telling her that maybe, just maybe her suspicions might be correct.

Clary exhaled slowly and watched the water droplets race each other across the window. Sometimes she wished her life was as simple as the drops of water. Careless and carefree. Their only job was to race each other. Just like it used to be when she was little. Her only job was to race the other students in the competition.

The car door opened as her father got inside. He slammed it shut behind him and the car's engine purred as he stepped hard on the accelerator. He drove faster than Clary had ever seen him drive.

"Dad?" She asked, panic rising inside her. Although she was planning on giving him the silent treatment, Clary was terrified of what he was about to do.

His hand tightened on the wheel. "What were you doing in his house, Clarissa?"

She swallowed hard and cupped her cheek. It had started to sting just looking at his hand. "I'd forgotten my—" Her eyes watered.

Her father raised his hand, indicating she should be quiet. Clary flinched slightly and waited for him to talk, but he didn't. He didn't say a word. He only stared at the road, his knuckles turning whiter by the minute.

"Dad?" Her voice was small and she felt like a child again. She wanted to be loved by her father. She wanted him back so badly. She didn't want this monster. The one that hurt her.

He sucked in a breath. "Don't call me that," he said harshly.

She jolted at his words.

"I'm not your father anymore. I lost both you and Jocelyn the day she died."

Clary teared up again. She dug her fingernails into her skin. "W-what?" She cracked at the last syllable.

"And," he continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Don't go alone anywhere near that son of a bitch."

Her head snapped up, questions filling her head. "Why?"

"Because," Valentine said, his voice void of any emotion. "He's responsible for your mother's death."

* * *

_See you all next month! xx_

_(P.S.: Check my tinypic account if you want to see what Jace's apartment looks like!)_


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